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Every Day Acts of Peace

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Sunday, December 26, 2010

Beijing, Tibet 1995: Remarkable Peaces Of Silence

My friends invite me to share 
a traditional Tibetan meal 
under the stars and moon 
during autumn nighttime.

We share the seasonal moment 
when the smell held in the earth 
from summer creations, 
releases into winter’s care.

We celebrate the city’s communal life cycles.
We drink, eat, toast and bring cheer 
to each other’s health and good character.
We sing until out of breath and songs to sing.

We sing until our health might collapse
from the fun of entertaining each other.
The men drink too much to keep up with me,
and I drink too much to keep up with the men.

No one wants to be indecorous 
or culturally underperformed.
We can stop after the fifth drink 
without any shame.

If we were not so pleasingly polite 
and traditionally correct, the unexpected 
benefit of drinking so much Tibetan moonshine 
might not heal our hearts or sooth our Souls.

I discovered quite by accident
that Tibetan moonshine has power.
It has sterilized the damp heat 
and evaporated the stale water out of my body.

Tibetan wine kills more germs than any pill prescribed
by the doctors at the hospitals in Shanghai and Beijing.
The doctors attempted to cure my work weary
spiritual pollution induced a long lasting pneumonia.

I think our singing, 
especially all the high vibrational notes,
undoubtedly contribute a harmonic exorcism -
to flux cure and route out the infection from my lungs.

My lymphatic system relaxes 
as my nervous system irrigates my colon.
My liver, gall bladder and kidneys 
release ancient patterns of anger.
My smile widens as my friends recount stories.

I laugh at their intentional doctoring of me 
via the effect of their wine and song.

The laughter and song in the yurt 
warms our circle of bodies -
we rise up a few degrees in temperature 
which heats our heart centers.

We ascend our earthly demeanor 
to integrate our spiritual power.
We sing to clear the channels 
that carry our spirit into our lower body.

My face begins to thaw, humming my ears 
into an acoustic ring of surround sound.
The peace of the extreme chill reverberates
my very personal experience of cold.

I sit on the ground woolen seat.
I feel every body part of me slow. 
I trickle surreal in my every moment of movement.
My nose drips little warm droplets.

Fluids arrive in a rush to escape
from somewhere in my body.
Water effects an exit via my sinoatrial node.
My nose muscles and liquids orbit 
before becoming still.

My all and everything freezes
into icicles at my nose tip’s end.
The penetration of far below-zero breathing
reminds me of my Canadian childhood.

Cold that leisurely stops my heart,
quiets my outer distraction, soothes my inner voice,
cuts and fragments my breath,
into remarkable peaces of silence.

~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
Sometime after 1953 Ma Jian wrote;
“… a road she walked, 
a road which would wake her from her sleep, 
was one she’d often walked halfway down before.”